The Tale of Ash
by Herpestidae
Summary: A chance meeting on the battlefield: Two foxes, on opposite sides of a war. Which will be the one to abandon their old life and begin anew?
1. Chapter 1

Hey, all. I've been a big fan of Redwall for years now, and this is my first story in the Redwall 'verse, and possibly my only one. While this story is mostly a serious tale, There are a few parody elements in it. Okay, one parody element, but used continuously. Well, let's get started.

* * *

Redwall. The name known all throughout Mossflower. A beacon of tranquility shining out from the dark of the woods. In the late spring, the walls that are its namesake glisten in the noontime sun. Atop those walls are two figures. Burard the otter was brawny and stout, with grey-brown fur and dark blue eyes. Burard was nephew of the Skipper of Otters, an adventurous young rapscallion who never seemed to stay out of trouble. He was an assistant to Friar Devin, learning to cook the delicious meals for which Redwall Abbey is famous. Mykal the fox was a head taller than his friend, with dark amber eyes and a hint of brown in his orange fur. He was a student of the healing arts under Sister Linnet, who kept the infirmary. Mykal's mother had somehow managed to drag herself to the abbey while in labor, and had died giving birth. The good abbey-dwellers gave the pup a home, and he was forever thankful. Like most foxes, he was clever and notoriously good at hiding.

"Y'ever just look at the sun mate," Burard was saying, "And wonder if it gets tired of coming up every morning?"

"Oh, hush," Mykal responded playfully, looking up from his sketch pad, "The foolish things that come out of your mouth sometimes."

He returned to his drawing, his paws blackened by the stick of charcoal.

"Whatcha drawin' there?"

"What I've been drawin' every noon for three months: the sun." He flipped back the pad of papers, showing the various sketches he had. "I've noticed that the sun seems to change positions at noon depending on the season and months. I just wanted to keep a log of it."

"You shoulda been Recorder with all your studyin' mate."

"Him? Recorder? You should know by now that I'd take offense to that."

A tan-furred mousemaid came trundling up the steps. She wore thin glasses and walked with a slight limp. She was remarkably serious for a beast of her age, an old head on young shoulders.

"Of course we do, Raelyn," Mykal said, rolling his eyes, "Who else spends all day in the gatehouse with those dusty old scrolls?"

"Those 'dusty old scrolls' tell of our heritage, and are important to our way of life at Redwall; History has a way of repeating itself in Mossflower.

"Yeah, sure," Mykal shrugged her off, returning to his sketch.

"What killed Cluny the Scourge?"

The challenge in her tone was unmissable.

_Only she could get so riled up about history_, Mykal thought. "Matthias, with the sword of Martin," he replied halfheartedly.

"Wrong. He sliced the rope holding the Joseph bell in the belltower, which subsequently fell onto Cluny and crushed him. How did Tsarmina Greeneyes die?"

"Martin killed her!" Burard attempted.

"Not true. She drowned in the lake. The same lake that became the pond in this very Abbey. How did-"

"We _get it_ Rae," Mykal interrupted, putting a paw on his forehead in aggravation. "I don't see the importance in learning about that history stuff anyway."

This response flustered Raelyn to no end.

"The _importance_ of- History is very important! Do you not see it? Attacks on Redwall have occurred several times in our history, and the next vermin warlord-"

"Excuse me."

This time, Burard had interrupted.

"I don't like it when ye use that word around my friend."

"Sorry," Raelyn mumbled, hanging her head.

"Oh, come on, chin up, Rae," Mykal said. "I ain't one o' them vermin-type foxes; you know it, I know it, and even Sir Barrel-Belly over there knows it."

"Oh, that's right," Raelyn said, springing up, "I was supposed to call you two in for lunch."

Burard took a tone of mock indignation, crossing his shoulders and barely hiding his smile.

"Well, Sister Raelyn, sure to be greatest Recorder Redwall Abbey has ever known, how could you forget such a vital mission, eh?"

The three of them raced down the wall-steps and dashed toward Great Hall.

* * *

Short Chapters equal faster updates. Two more chapters like this on the way- one from Salamandastron and one from the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: This one takes place in Salamadastron. We've got the main hare characters over here.

* * *

Badger Lady Janine was a rather imposing figure. She was tall and sturdy, with fierce green eyes. She had seen many battles in her lifetime, but never one as tragic as this. A Long Patrol hare was dead, one of his fellow soldiers confessing to the deed. And Honeydew was the only witness.

Honeydew was named for the color of her fur, which was comparable to the golden-brown hue of honey (her parents were later shocked to learn that "honeydew" was also the name of a variety of melon, whose flesh was _green_). She was a pretty haremaid, with many admirers but few friends. She was good-natured but shy, spending her time learning the arts of healing rather than combat. She was, of course, slightly better suited to infirmary work than to fighting, because she had been blind from birth. Which, needless to say, made interrogating her rather difficult.

Brigadier Windsor, a toughened Long Patrol veteran, stood beside the chair in which Honeydew sat, paws in her lap. He spoke gently, not wishing to upset her any more than she already was. After all, the incident involved one of her closest friends.

"So, old gel, wot'd y'see- er, hear?"

I was walking down the hall, between the mess and the infirmary- it was lunch, and I was bringin' Stan his meal- he's got a twisted ankle and can't leave the infirmary. And I hear the two of them talking."

"Who?"

"Claude an' Harris. They were on the left side of the fork in the hall that's past the infirmary. Harris had a weapon. I heard it swinging and hitting the walls. Then Claude started runnin' toward the mess, so I moved out o' the way. Harris ran past too, and whatever he had sliced into my leg, and I fell." She pawed at the dressing around her thigh. "Then Claude calls out my name and I hear him comin' back, and I heard Claude cry out a few times, and then he _yelled_, and there was a thump and a crack. It was loud. And then another thump, another crack, and I hear something fall to the floor. Then Claude comes over to me and asks if I'm alright, and collapses."

There was a long pause. Windsor was about to dismiss her, but she continued.

"I smelled blood on him, so I checked him out. He had a puncture wound in his side, and his leg was almost sliced open, and he was missing a piece of his ear. The rest of the cuts weren't that bad, but I was tryin' to stop the bleeding, and calling for help, and then-"

"That's enough," Janine said. "You've done well. Thank you for your time." She opened the door to her chamber and motioned to one of the hares standing guard. "Lead her to the barracks. The Brigadier and I will see to the matter."

She turned her back to the closed door.

"I guess I can tell Claude he's off the hook," The Brigadier began. "The stories match up. That Claude's always been a strong one, but to kill a beast with two kicks? I'm impressed, even given the circumstances."

"That weren't just any two kicks, Windsor. First one broke two of Harris' ribs. And did you see his face? His jaw was broken into three pieces, and he choked on his own two front teeth. Claude's got himself a case of the Bloodwrath, no doubt about it."

"Bloodwrath? You sure, marm? It's pretty rare, and even then, it usually affects badgers."

"Usually. There's a handful of other beasts that had it. I remember one- Cuthbert Frump, or something like that. Lost his daughter, went mad and took on a corsair ship all by himself, and lived to tell the tale."

"Should we tell Claude?"

"Maybe later. His injuries need time to heal. You can tell him he's cleared of the charges, even if he's pleaded guilty already. I'm not sure he'll want to fight all that much anymore, though."

"Shame if he doesn't. He's officer material, that one."

* * *

Windsor tramped down the winding hallways of Salamandastron, to a small, cool chamber under the mountain. It was Claude's wish to be placed in the dungeon rather than the infirmary; the brawny young mountain hare lay there on a simple cot. The mottled pattern of his brown fur was interrupted in places by red-stained bandages. He looked at the brigadier and attempted to sit up. Windsor couldn't help but smile, though he did his best to hide it. Claude was a dutiful, serious lad, if a bit thick at times. Windsor knelt at Claude's bedside and spoke softly.

"As you were, Cadet. Don't want you upsettin' your wounds. All the hard work young Honey did fixin' you up would be wasted."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Why would you say that now, lad?"

"I killed one of my comrades-in-arms," he replied. "I've wanted to become a member of the Long Patrol since I was but a leveret, listening to stories father told of those brave hares, who'd give life and limb for one of their own. And I broke a sacred rule. The punishment is death or discharge. M'not sure which is worse."

"Chadrey Donwick Wintomery Claudsten II," Windsor began, using the young hare's full title, "It is the duty of the Long Patrol to stand for their comrades and protect those who can't help themselves, is that not right?"

"Yessir."

"And that was what you did. Honeydew told me her side of the story. You were protectin' your friend against a mad hare with a weapon. Would it have been better to let him hack her to bits?"

"Guess not."

"Point is, mate, you put her life above your own, and threw the rules and regulations to the winds to do so. Lady Janine and I talked it over, and we can't blame you for that."

"I still feel bad. Harris and I were rivals, sure, but I had no idea he hated me so much."

"Sometimes, jealousy and ill will can warp a beast, make him into something he's not. Other times, it reveals what he always was."

He rose to leave, calling back as he did: "When y'feel up to it, we'll move you up to the infirmary. There's a promotion waiting for you after you've recovered. That is, if y'want it."

"Sir!" Claude called, as Windsor was leaving.

"Yes?"

"How much did she hear?"

"Honeydew?"

"Y'didn't tell her, did you? That Harris was fightin' me for _her_? Did she know already?"

"I didn't want to worry her. As far as she knows, he just went a bit mad. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing. Are you just promoting me because-"

"No, son. I don't play favorites. You're my grandson now that you're off-duty, but when you join up with the Patrol again, you'll be Second Lieutenant Claude."

With a final wink, Windsor left the brig. After a few hours of guilt-ridden anxiety, Claude fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

OMG a hare with the Bloodwrath! Better ready the Anti-Sue flamethrower!


	3. Chapter 3

Remember when I said that Mykal's eyes were red? I lied. The issue has been fixed. Also, remember when I said this chapter would take place out on the sea? I lied about that, too. Originally, the band of foxes were corsair/ pirate types, but the story didn't want to go that route, for some reason, and I listen to what my story wants. So now, they're simply a decently-sized marauding band.

* * *

The foxes came from the north. They totaled little more than a small army, but were frightening one nonetheless. Several of them had overgrown fangs. Others had fearsome tattoos or golden replacement teeth. But their leader was by far the most horrifying. Merda Gloomtail was head of this army; he had fought tooth and claw for the position. His fur, from the point of his ear to the very tip of his tail, was a brown so dark that he was difficult to see at night. He bore a wicked curved spear with a broad blade; one swing could behead a beast with ease. He was normally wrapped in a dark golden hood and coat, but that night he had been raiding, and so his face was clearly seen in all its horror. Nearly every inch of his snout was covered in scars, one of which was a testament to a sword stroke that had nearly split his nose into perfect halves. Through the holes atop his hood, a beast could see that one ear was nicked, the other was cut nearly clean off, with a few earrings jammed spitefully into the inch that was left. No other fox could so perfectly match the description in the tales she was often told.

And Lutea had done what nobeast had done before. She had looked into Merda Gloomtail's eyes, and she was still alive. She was certain of it. Was it good or bad luck that the ottermaid had seen the legend before her, and had been looking into those eyes for nearly ten seconds? Although she was unable to remember the exact color, but she knew, deep down, that she had seen them. That she had somehow managed to escape, past the bodies of her mother and father, her young brother in her arms. That she continued to run, afraid and confused, and had actually escaped his horde. After careful consideration, she decided that it was bad luck. Not necessarily for her, but for anyone she met, anywhere she stayed. She was headed due south, into Mossflower Wood, leaving an obvious trail. They would follow, and she had no time to stop and cover her tracks. Not with Nelum's life depending on her getting away as quickly as possible. Her brother was just learning to walk and swim. There was no way he would keep up with her at this speed. Still, Lutea knew she needed to find a place to rest eventually. She could only hope to find one.

* * *

Ashpaw the vixen knelt over the wounded chief, whose leg had an javelin sticking straight through it. Her sharp grey eyes scanned the injury. Those otters were getting smarter. Both tips were barbed in a similar manner to an arrow's. pulling it straight out was out of the question, so she was currently sawing through one barbed end of the javelin in order to pull it out without further destroying his leg.

Merda twitched, pricking his knee against Ashpaw's dagger and pulling on the javelin, sending a barb into the wound. Merda cried out.

"Oh, hold still! A cub wouldn't have the tears to waste over a scratch like this."

"Watch your tongue, vixen," Merda snarled. "I'm the chief here, make no mistake about it."

"Would you rather I call Ragpaw back over so he can pull the thing out and ruin your leg?" Ashpaw retorted cheekily. "You're lucky I didn't tell the crew that the maid did this to you, and not the big otter, like you said. With your leg in this condition, they'd all be tryin' to kill you and become chief themselves."

"Why don't you let them?"

"I'm too clever to be led by a fool, and I'm to impatient to lead a hundred fools. Now hold still, 'fore you get your name changed to Stumpleg."

Merda did as he was commanded, but he was not without complaint.

"Don't I get some herbs for the pain? Thought vixens were healers."

"Thought wrong, then. I've been part o' the crew since I was a bit more'n a pup. Some pirate types had me brought along for "non-combat purposes," and I ain't talkin' about healin'."

"That's... horrid. I mean, even I wouldn't sink as low as to turn a pup into a who-"

"But the old chief Patchleg attacked the ship and took the crew into his army. Been here ever since."

The head of the javelin fell off, and Ashpaw pulled it out, beginning to bind the wound. She wasn't a "true" healer by any means, but she picked up a few skills along the way.

"Now that this is out, I can give you this," Ashpaw said, pulling a small vial from a satchel. "It'll help you sleep past the pain."

Merda drank a few sips and Ashpaw continued to bind in silence, until...

"What were you called before?" Merda asked. He sounded drunk, and slightly more joyous than a vermin leader should.

"My mum named me Pepper. Guess why."

And it didn't take Merda long to see why at all, even in his drugged state: she was a reddish-orange like most foxes, but the white fur of her muzzle, paws, and the tip of her tail was speckled with numerous dots of black and grey.

Merda grunted.

"We vermin are an imaginative lot, aren't we? Half the foxes in our group are named after a body part: Rawtail, Halftail, Cliptail, _Onetail_. Think I'll start callin' you deputy Spicepaw. Nice ring to it, huh?

"If you're tryin' to get me to visit your tent tonight, you've got another thing coming. I don't fall for pretty words."

Merda laughed, then abruptly stopped and let out a huge snore.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it's late guys. Before you complain, I must say one thing: College. Also, I was getting the story down a bit more. I just had a rather interesting idea about the universe in general; it's often taken for granted that every animal is attracted to those of their own species. I mean, besides several references to Wearets- the less I think of _that_ the better- the only example was the two shrews in _Loamhedge_ who seemed to have a bit of a thing for Fenna. Bragoon and Saro, might be another example, if only because they were male and female.

Anyway, leave my ramblings alone. I think we should be back at Redwall now, right? hey, look! Filler!

* * *

Burard stalked down the dormitory steps past Great Hall, lantern in paw- the sun wouldn't be up for another hour. He was headed toward the kitchens, where he had hidden a blueberry pudding, made especially for his early morning snack. Even though he made the trek almost nightly, he could never get over the creeping fear that he was being watched. Of course, it was entirely likely that he _was_. Every so often he turned, as if to catch somebeast in the light of his lantern. As he was passing through Great Hall proper, he felt the fur on his neck prickle, and spun, holding the lantern high.

"Ha!"

Staring back at him were two familiar eyes, lovingly sewn into the great hall tapestry hundreds of seasons ago.

"Oh, 'tis only you Martin. I wonder if you ever get tired of watchin' over us and all that other nonsense your spirit's supposed to do."*

That's when he heard it. Like the snap of twig in the forest, the sound of a tail sliding along the ground caught his ears.

"You're gettin' sloppy, Mykal!" Burard gloated, illuminating the space under the table before sticking his own head under.

He was not prepared to see a red-furred squirrelmaid waving back at him.

"Clivia? Why're you there?"

"'Mornin' Barrels," a voice whispered in his ear.

Startled, Burard leapt up, roaring as he knocked his head on the table and dropping the lantern, which was deftly caught before it could shatter on the ground. His assailant's grinning face and thick glasses were illuminated by the lamplight.

"Rae? Then where's Myk-"

"RIGHT HERE!"

"WAAH!"

Burard leapt back and clutched at his rapidly beating heart. Mouse, squirrel, and fox rolled on the floor in fits of laughter.

"Easy, you'll have the whole abbey up early!"

"You shoulda seen your face!"

"What's that about me gettin' sloppy, now?"

"And what is the meaning of this!"

All four young beasts bolted upright at the harsh voice. A massive she-badger stood before them, arms crossed in front of her chest and looking murderous. Burard recovered first, throwing himself at her feet.

"Oh, Mother Ubala! These three miscreants are tryin' to scare this poor innocent soul to death! Little me, only on his way to enjoy the fruits of 'is own labor!"

His loud imitation sob fell on deaf ears.

"You haven't been little a day in your life," Ubala replied dryly. The other three had to bury their heads in their paws.

"Hurr! Wut be the noisyness 'bout yurr? Somebeasts tryen ta be asleepen' this toime o' day."**

All five turned to the newcomer, a pudgy middle-aged mole with a stripe of grey fur at eyebrow level.

"Father Abbot!" They all exclaimed together.

"Yurr, tis Oi, ole Abbot Rummag. A beast carn't get toired of ee callin' im boi 'is toitles. Wot be the probbem?"

"Father, these four are trying to wake the entire Abbey!" Ubala charged.

"Hey now," Burard interjected, still in his dramatic mood, "I'm just the victim of a mean-spirited prank. I was just gettin' the pudding I made meself last night. 'Twas those three _hooligans_ what caused me to shout, with their sneakin' around and causin' beasts to hit their heads an' scarin' 'em. Especially that mouse there. I'd have thought her too mature for such petty things."

"Listen here youngster," Raelyn begin in a harsh croaky voice, "I've got a good three days worth of living more than you, so you'd better respect yore elders. Not to old to lay out on mah knee and paddle yore tail. Besides, a good bit o' fun keeps the mind from going idle."

The other two youngbeasts were currently laughing so hard that they needed to lean on each other for support.

"An' wot be you two up to noaw?"

Mykal regained his composure first.

"Y'see Father," he began, indicating the sack that Clivia carried, " the infirmary was runnin' low on supplies- bindweed, dock leaves, and such- so I got in touch with Clivia and we went out and foraged some up. Rae was up studyin' in the gatehouse, so she let us out and back in. We heard the big tubby one stumblin' about lookin' to fill that stomach o' his, and couldn't resist scarin' 'im. It was all in good fun, though. Ain't we all good friends?"

He wrapped both of his long arms around all three for effect; all four gave huge imitation smiles in the Abbott's general direction. Rummag's severe glower softened.

"Awroight. Be gudd li'l beasts and head up ta bed noaw."

The four of them, still embracing, marched up the steps together, backwards, and still grinning.

"You're way too soft on them, you know that?"

"Oh, do oi."

Out of earshot of the two authority figures, the four unwrapped themselves and bid each other goodnight at an intersection of two hallways. Mykal and Burard headed north, while Clivia and Raelyn went south.*** As if forgetting something, Clivia turned around to plant a kiss on the tip of Mykal's nose.

"'Night Mykie."

"G'night. or, Good Morning, I guess." This was met with a giggle.

As they headed to their dormitories, Burard gave a huge snort.

"What?" Mykal inquired.

"Nothin'"

"That don't sound like nothin'."

"Oh, you just seem to have a maid interested in you. 'Night my sweet Mykie!'"

"Clivia? Naw, she's just really... affectionate."

"_Sure_. And I've got a _bit_ of an appetite."

"Come on, she's like my sister. Besides, she's a squirrel."

"What's that make your kids, then? Squoxes? Fuirrels?"

Mykal was not amused.

"Burard, I mean this in the friendliest way possible. I'm going to rip off your rudder and beat you to death with it."

"That's a new one. Quite creative. Can't help but think I'm forgettin' something important."

"Your pudding."

Burard turned back around, and Mykal called out "Don't worry, I already ate it for you."

"That's why I made two."

"Well played."

* * *

*I can't be the only one who's grown to hate having this forced down my throat every book. WE GET IT JACQUES! GAWD!

** I might possibly need to work on my Mole.

*** I'm assuming that there are girls' and boys' dormitories, at least for the teenagers. For... obvious reasons.


End file.
